At The End Of The Day
by The Madmadam
Summary: Disturbed by Nancy's rancor towards the Tophams, Carson takes her to visit a wretched community. Takes place during 1930.


Most afternoons found Nancy Drew in the first-floor library of her home. What she did on these days seldom varied. Today she found herself reading _Murder at the Vicarage_ , a book she'd purchased only half half an hour prior. On the way home Nancy had remembered her mantle clock and paused with a wistful smile. Although she'd only had it a few days, Nancy sometimes worried that the _Secret of the Old Clock_ was the only case she'd ever solve.

"After having tasted adventure…" she said plaintively, then remembered the book in front of her and dug back into it. Every second she kept her eyes trained on the page, but she forgot to turn off her ears which still listened for the door.

As much as she liked this new Jane Marple, though, she couldn't lose herself in the pages, however much she tried.

When the first amber ray hit the edge of the table, Nancy finally set the book down. It was no use. She placed her hands in her lap. Soon they started fidgeting. She attempted to occupy them by smoothing her skirt. At long last she stood and looked around the library, looking for something—anything—that she could clean.

Unfortunately, Hannah had left the room spotless.

Just as Nancy became sure she was about to lose her mind, the front door creaked open. She rushed downstairs in time to see her father place his hat on the halltree.

"Dad!" she ran over and hugged him. "I waited for you."

"Good," Carson said simply.

Nancy looked up in surprise. That was a less affectionate greeting than most. Perhaps he was simply tired.

"I'd like to talk to you," he continued.

Her eyes lit up. "Another case?" That must have been why he'd come home late!

"No. Something regarding the one you just solved, actually." Carson's unsmiling face puzzled Nancy. The brevity of his hello wasn't so uncommon when he was tired. But he always had a smile to spare.

Amend that to usually.

"Loose ends?" she tried.

"No."

"Grace and Allie Hoover called about the dress I ordered?"

"No."

Her expression darkened. "Those dreadful Tophams are contesting the will."

Something changed in his eyes, but he replied, "No."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I'd like to take you somewhere. We'll talk on the way."

Someplace new! Nancy's eyes sparkled in anticipation. "Where are we going?" She tugged the back of her cloche over her tight blonde curls and went for her coat.

Carson eyed the hat dubiously. "There's no need to always be so fashionable, dear. Why don't you change into something more comfortable?"

With her arms already in the sleeves, Nancy struggled to get the big button through the fabric at her collar. "Really, Dad, this is quite comfortable—"

"Please, Nancy."

She frowned but abandoned the button struggle. Who was this man, and what had he done with her father?

"Tonight's going to be a little different, and I see now that I was wrong to shield you from certain things," Carson said, translating her expression without even laying eyes on her. In fact he's been avoiding eye contact ever since coming home.

Nancy didn't know how she was supposed to reply to an admission of this type, so she stayed silent. Even downstairs she could hear the mantle clock tick off each second. Fighting the temptation to fidget again, she looked down at her loafers. Then she remembered what her father asked her to do and quietly hung up her coat. "Will my equestrian outfit do?" she asked.

Carson nodded.

Nancy began trotting up the stairs, only pausing to turn and call, "Be right down," to her father, who looked just as much like he was trying not to fidget as she felt. Once she conquered each step, she made a beeline to her room, walking fourteen paces to her dresser and pulling out a pair of well-worn white breeches. Then, after eight more paces to her closet, she plucked a white button-up blouse off the hanger. Then she pulled out a pumpkin-colored riding jacket with one black button hanging loose at the bottom and three fuchsia buttons above it she'd sewed on when the others fell off. She reached for her riding cap but then, remembering her father's reaction to her putting on a hat before, thought better of it. Retracing her steps downstairs, Nancy greeted her father again.

He chuckled.

Nancy was relieved to hear it.

"I do believe that's my favorite of your jackets. All it needs is a horse face on the front."

Ducking her head, she grinned. "I confess I knew little about which colors clashed when I sewed it like that two years ago."

"Well, you look much better now than you did a few minutes ago."

Nancy's blue eyes widened. Lately she's been predisposed to disagreeing with her father, but this time she can't even conceive why he would think, let alone say, something so bizarre. While the Drews were not people to boast of their affluence, they did adhere to the social expectations (mainly regarding fashion and etiquette) that came with money. "Are you trying to put me on another mystery to cheer me up?" she said finally.

"No," Carson laughed again, pulling his navy double-breasted coat around his shoulders, "although that's a good theory."

They walked outside, the slightly chilly autumn air caressing Nancy's face and unhatted hair, the azure sky abdicated to a gentle lavender befitting middle evening. She turned to him. "Now you must tell me where we're going."

"I think…" Carson trailed off. "Hmmm."

Nancy gazed at the fluttering leaves across her yard, accommodating her father's silence. Evidently he hadn't had time to think this excursion through. Of course work kept him very busy, and she shouldn't have expected otherwise. However, patience did not come easily to Nancy. She sometimes wondered if she'd ever be able to conquer her rashness long enough to rationally reconstruct the details of a crime, as her father so flawlessly did, rather than fly by a long string of hunches. Intuition had its place in detective work, but as part of a balance with other qualities that were just as important.

And if recovering Josiah Crowley's will would be her only case, she doubted she'd ever have the chance to grow.

Nancy's thoughts tumbled through her head at such a rate that she almost didn't see Carson start walking toward her beloved blue convertible roadster he'd gifted her two springs ago.

She followed him. "Dad? You need to be careful with the brake pedal. It's touchier than the one in your automobile."

"I know." He opened the front left door. "That's why I'll let you drive."

Nancy brightened, too elated to worry over the oddness of the gesture. Her father hadn't ridden with her in the car since he'd taught her to drive it. "All right! Where are we going?"

"Dogtown."

She paused. "The area far north of town? Why?"

"There is something I need you to see up there. It will probably change your perspective regarding a thing or two."

"Okay, Dad." Nancy grinned, expertly backing the car out of the Drew's long driveway. "Did I ask you how your day at work was?"

"It was fine. A little slow today." He paused. "It's funny you brought up the Hoover sisters a few minutes ago. They have a rather… unfortunate family name in times like these."

"How s-oh." Nancy frowned. "Can you believe that President Hoover is turning a blind eye to destitution? He even justified doing so! When I think of Grace and Allie, until so recently struggling financially, my blood fairly boils!" She glanced over at her father, noting that his expression was a touch more placid than it was before. Nancy recognized it. Relief.

"I'm very glad they didn't lose their house. It's hard to believe, but the way some people live nowadays makes them look very rich, indeed."

"I can't even imagine worse." Nancy shuddered. "I suppose I'm fortunate."

"It's good you recognize it. Many people your age don't have such rich perspective."

Nancy glowed with pride, saying nothing for the rest of the drive.

This seemed fine to Carson, who settled back in the passenger seat and turned his head slightly outward toward the side of the road as it changed from asphalt to dirt.

Approximately twenty minutes later, he leaned forward and placed a hand on Nancy's forearm. "Pull over here."

She did so, a little puzzled. The metallic slam of Carson's car door made her jump. "There's nothing out here," she said. Craning her head around did nothing. Squinting for objects or people in the distance produced a similar result.

"We're going to do a little bit of walking." Carson leaned against the roadster. He didn't rush her. He never did. After all, this was what he was trying to teach her: to slow down, to think clearly and fully, to examine all of the possibilities.

A sudden thrill coursed through Nancy when she realized what an adventure this was, almost comparable to a second case. Beaming, she pocketed the keys and left the car, moving to stand next to her father.

"Now," he said as they started to stroll forward, "I wanted to wait to tell you the particulars of this outing. You must know that you made me very proud last week."

"Thank you." Nancy smiled. Finding Josiah Crowley's actual will hadn't been easy, but she wouldn't have stopped until she'd done so. "But surely you didn't have us drive out to Dogtown because of that."

Shaking his head, Carson chuckled. "If I believed there was such a thing as too smart, you would be it. No, I asked you out here because despite being proud of you, I was more than a little disturbed by some remarks you made."

"Oh." Nancy's face fell. Indeed she'd expected that they hadn't come here simply for her father to say he was proud of her, but she hadn't expected disappointment, either. Forcing herself to move quickly past her dismay, she leaned to the side and tugged her father's sleeve. "What? What did I say that was disagreeable to you?"

"You—" Carson turned his head over some wheat fields toward the setting sun. "You expressed a wish that the Tophams would fall upon some financial misfortune for their unpleasantness. I believe bankruptcy was your specific wish."

"That?" Nancy stopped walking, forcing him to catch her stare. "Dad, they don't deserve one cent of the money they appropriated then flaunted around. And if they don't deserve any of it, they shouldn't have it. Isn't that what bankruptcy is?"

"What a fine time for you to start being logical, on such an illogical premise."

Nancy felt her nostrils flare. Her father had recently begun teaching her about the universal form logical arguments took. So instead of making her displeasure known she drew a steady breath and asked, "Which premise do you find faulty?"

"The first one. All people deserve enough money to make a livelihood for themselves and their families. What are the three inalienable rights listed in the beginning of the Declaration of Independence?"

"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," she rattled off.

"Tell me what that means."

"It means that every person has the right to live freely and look for what brings them personal satisfaction in his or her—although only technically 'his,' since only one sex is listed in the Declaration—" Nancy's nose wrinkled with dissatisfaction, "—life."

"And do you think that any person living in bankruptcy is able to live that way?"

Nancy did think about this, thought hard. She squinted at the grass, grappling for any loopholes that could allow for the Tophams receiving their just desserts. Finally she shook her head.

"Everything in law goes back to the Declaration and the Constitution. Every single one of my cases goes back to ensuring that people can live safely, protected from harm by other people or circumstances. As a lawyer, this is my aim."

"And in this case, the circumstances are financial." Nancy bit her lip. "Intellectually I understand why what you said is right. But my heart still wants to see the Tophams suffer badly for their conduct."

"That's why I brought you here," Carson replied, jaw set.

"Where?"

He nodded ahead to an open area filled with upturned cardboard boxes and several strings of smoke. "There."

She stopped short. "Where is the smoke coming from?"

"Campfires."

"But where are the people starting them—" A small movement distracted her eye. After a moment of discernment she noted that it was a small, seated figure. A human figure. "Those little hunched lumps… those are people around the fires?"

"Yes."

"But why just smoke? Why isn't there flame?"

"You may have noticed it rained today."

The objectivity in his voice, the lack of judgment at such a silly question, put shame in Nancy's heart. Cheeks pink, she stared at the ground ahead of her.

Carson took her arm. "Let's pay a visit."

"What is this place?" Nancy asked, eyes wide and roaming as they drew closer to the site. She looked to the side and noticed someone, a middle-aged woman, leaving one of the cardboard structures. With a start Nancy realized that these tiny boxes served as living spaces.

"A Hooverville," he leaned to her side and muttered. "That's what the newspapers are calling them."

By now the people sitting outside had noticed them. Some stared through veneers of smoke. Others shifted and turned fully to see what the disturbance was.

In a rare moment of subordinance, Nancy clung tighter to her father's arm.

A light wind blew Nancy's curls into her eyes. When she wiped them away, she saw the lingering shudder that rippled through the lean-tos. "What—" Nancy took a breath, trying to cover the similar shudder in her voice, "what happens if the buildings blow down?"

"They rebuild them again."

"But why so far out here? There's no shelter from the wind and how do they bring the food and the water and…" she trails off.

"River Heights pushed all these people out." Carson's voice grew an edge. "They weren't considered compatible with the town's picturesque image."

"That's terrible." Nancy's eyes locked on a little girl sitting a distance away from the others in the circle. No family members. Her chin-length auburn hair fluttered around two greatly protruding ears, as did the ends of her shorts and her dirty chemise around her tiny body, and the downward angle of her head and stillness of her figure told Nancy she was staring at the ground. "I wonder what happened to her parents," she mused.

The girl shot around as if the position of her ears were an indication of her hearing acuity.

Nancy, although embarrassed at being overheard, held eye contact. Even so, she was distracted by a sight in her peripherals: a scraggly black man approaching them. His jacket was torn and stained. His denim pants waved loosely around his legs, secured with a short length of rope at the waist. Momentarily forgetting the girl, she offered a wan smile, head tilt, and "Hello."

But it was her father the man was interested in, his eyes flickering between Carson's eyes and coat buttons.

Carson extended a hand, extricating his arm from Nancy's.

The man shook his head. "Don't wanna be shaking my hand. There's supper grease all over it."

"How have you been doing, Fred?"

Nancy tried to keep the surprise off her face. Her father had been here before?

"No different. Not too bad, not too good. Got a roof and a meal twice a day which is more than most people have."

Carson nodded, then turned to Nancy. "This is my daughter."

"Glad to meet you." Fred grinned at Nancy, showing slightly-yellowed teeth. He must not have been here long, she thought. Otherwise they would not be nearly so well-kept. "You know what your Daddy did? He defended me in court when I didn't have a dime to my name. Some guy named Herbert Theodore Bennington stole my idea for masked sound phones for businessmen who have sensitive information—you know, so your ma or neighbor can't listen in when you're on a call on a party line, just hears a signal that the line is tied. Then I challenged him in public and he sued me for it."

Nancy's father bowed his head. "I'm sorry I lost."

Fred waved a hand. "Wasn't even a little your fault. Bennington bought the judge. You haven't lost a case before or lost one since. That shows you something."

Nancy had to bite back the vitriol. She knew that miscarriages of justice occurred, but that type of depravity was mostly reserved for the big cities.

Another man with tanned and leathery skin and bloodshot eyes walked toward them, leaning his arm on Fred's shoulder. "What's up, Freddie?"

Fred turned. "Reggie, this is a friend of mine, Carson Drew. Carson, this is Reggie, my shadow."

"No, no." The man named Reggie laughs, showing off yellower teeth. Some were even a little brown. "Fred here is _my_ shadow. We share clothes, you know." His stare went to exactly the same place as Fred's had: the coat buttons.

"That's efficient. Then would you mind sharing this?" Carson took off his coat and handed it to Fred.

Nancy knew her father was a good man. She had suspected he was a great man. But before today, she had no visible proof. Carson carefully selected the cases he discussed with her.

Fred lowered his eyes with a small smile, muttering "Thank you." Reggie was far more effusive in his gratitude, grasping Carson's forearms, grinning ear to ear, declaring himself King of the Hooverville with the added finery.

They rejoined the group, and Nancy's attention traveled once again to the little girl still staring at her. Now she rose from the log she was sitting on and made her way toward Nancy.

Nancy smiled. "Hello."

"What are you doing here? You're not a bum."

"I'm visiting with my father."

"My dad works on the railroad." The girl stretched her skinny arms in front of her and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "But he doesn't want to see me anymore. What's your dad do?"

Nancy looked over at her father, who seemed lost in thought. "He's a lawyer," she replied.

"What's that?"

"Somebody who interprets the law and makes sure the law is followed."

Carson's head turned toward the two. "Did someone say law?"

"I'm gonna be a pilot," the girl declared. "The next Amelia Earhart."

"Good thing to aspire toward," Nancy nodded sagely, "although you may have to wait a while. She's still at the beginning of her flying career."

The girl shrugged. "Flying is dangerous business. She'll either quit or crash. I hope she doesn't, but she will." The breeze picked up, and she clamped her arms at her sides, too proud to embrace herself or shiver in response.

Nancy took some pity on the figure. "Here," she said. "Would you like my jacket?"

The girl made a face. "I wouldn't be caught dead in that rag."

Carson laughed aloud.

Nancy turned and made a face at him, mild enough for him to know it was in jest.

"Here, let me give _you_ something."

Looking at the girl again, Nancy saw her wriggle her fingers into a pocket that should've been at her hip. Thanks to the size of the chemise, it fell to her thigh. A few seconds later she produced a small black kidney-shaped item.

"Bleeding Hearts flower." She held it out proudly. "Or at least it will be when it grows."

For another second or two Nancy struggled for words… the right words, in particular. "That's very generous of you," she began slowly. "Are you sure I'm not depriving you of something important to you?"

"No. I have a pod full of 'em. Found it out here two days ago. Take it."

Nancy cupped her palm and held it forward. The girl turned her hand into Nancy's, sending the gift neatly to the center.

"Besides, you should think about what you try to give away. If you have a jacket that ugly you have to care about it somewhat."

"As a matter of fact, I do." Nancy peered down into the girl's face, clear, unbridledly honest, free of wrinkles. "Thank you for the advice, and thank you for the seed. I'll plant it as soon as I arrive home."

"Good. And call it Katherine. That's my name."

"I…" Nancy tried to talk during a sharp intake of breath, largely unsuccessfully. "I will."

Carson's hand closed over Nancy's shoulder as the girl saluted her, spun around, and sauntered off. Any reminder of Nancy's mother still startled her, even if that reminder was something as simple as a name.

For half a minute they stood in silence.

"It's funny how that girl is almost exactly like Katherine. Kate," Carson amended, smiling softly at his wife's favorite nickname. "You too."

"Yes," Nancy agreed.

Her father's eyes swept to the spot they'd walked from, where only a strip of light remained. "I think we'll go now."

They walked, arriving back at Nancy's roadster after seemingly very little time had passed.

He turned to her. "Now what do you think of the Tophams' fate?"

"Oh! I forgot." Eyes falling out of focus, Nancy took the time to remember the tiny huts, the tiny fires, the people tiny from malnutrition, and reconnect it to her father's favorite didactic topic of the evening. Chewing on her bottom lip, she attempted to place her least favorite family among the desolation.

It didn't fit.

As a matter of fact, nothing did. For, when Nancy really thought hard about it, she didn't really want to see anyone there at all. Better just an empty plane and a president who cared to invest in the welfare of his citizens.

"Nobody deserves that," she said.

Her father nodded, smiled wanly. "For the second time this week I am very proud of you, Nancy."

"Thanks, Dad."

"And you reacted graciously toward being advised by your youngers, I noticed."

"It was valid advice. I could surely take a leaf from her book."

"I don't know." He chortled. "You're enough of a handful already."

"I don't know, Dad. Maybe I'll color my hair red."

They shared smiles and gazed at the ribbon of daylight that survived on the horizon. Then she skipped over to the left side of her car and opened the door as Carson did the same on the right. Neither talked on the drive home.

Neither needed to.

Sometimes things happened in the world that nobody deserved, and now Nancy knew about them.

 **Title chosen 'cos I'm a Mizzie.**

 **So I read the original (not the yellowback rewrite!) Secret of the Old Clock and was a bit disturbed by Nancy's ill wishes on the Tophams at the end. Or, more particularly, the extent of her ill wishes. Saying "Karma's a bitch" is one thing; wishing total bankruptcy on a family is quite another. I do love seeing Nancy not be perfect, however, and similarly seeing Carson actually be a dad to her and steer her in the right direction. (In the rewrites he pretty much treats her as an equal, which… eh.) So I thought that her diatribe on the Tophams would be an excellent teaching opportunity from father to child.**

 **On a related note, Secret of the Old Clock is totally freaking racist, and I honestly felt so sordid even just reading Nancy's exchange with the black caretaker that I wanted to push back against it in this story. while I know that "colored" was actually the historical term of preference (politically correct-ish) back then instead of "black" or "of color" today, I opted not to use it partially because 1) I'm very much a product of my generation in that I'm uncomfortable using the former term and 2) when the word 'colored,' so offensive today, is combined with the overt racism in Old Clock, also quite offensive today, things just turn really rancid really quickly.**

 **Because I'm an ND game fanatic there are three references to the games in here. One: Nancy's mom's name being Kate. Two: Herbert Theodore Bennington, whom I imagine is the father of the J. P. Bennington who screwed over Alexei. Three: the equestrian outfit is a nod to Nancy's preference for horse shirts in the games.**

 **As most of you probably know, the 16-year-old Nancy from the original books was a lot more rash than the cool, rational 18-year-old Nancy of the rewrites. Also, fun fact: Nancy was originally a blonde. She turned titian in the late fifties when the front cover of The Haunted Showboat suffered a misprint, coloring her hair red by accident. Needless to say, it stuck. Also needless to say, her natural blonde but trademark red hair is known as the Reverse Bart Simpson Syndrome. (Watch the episode where his hair grows back red.) No, really. To me it is, at least. In addition, Secret of the Old Clock made such a point of Nancy's expert driving that I envision her getting her own car (and familiarizing herself with it) at either 14 or 15. Unlike today, there was no age minimum for a license and you could actually just get one by mail for a small fee. I know this from the Andy Hardy movies. While some bigger cities did have a driving test, it seems like small towns (like Carmel, the town Andy Hardy grew up in) didn't feel the need for administering these.**


End file.
